


The Six-Feet-Under Sharpshooter

by Twiranux



Series: R.I.P. Crew [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Blood, Blood Loss, Blood and Violence, Fake AH Crew, Gen, Gritty, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Loss, Loss of Identity, Medical Trauma, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Non-Consensual Drug Use, PTSD Geoff, Past Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shock, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-08-30 04:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8518081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twiranux/pseuds/Twiranux
Summary: Geoff closes his eyes for a brief moment, and is haunted by the trauma of yesterday's predicament. Ray takes a hold of the barrel, and pulls it even closer to his forehead, forcing it to make contact against his skin. Geoff's eyes fly open, from the sudden movement of the gun, and sees the nightmarish irony. The one who seeked mercy now held that power to make others beg for it.





	1. Burial is a Form of Self-Preservation

He certainly heard the main door into his beloved apartment open, with the relentless and undying squeak getting his attention. Staring out of his apartment window, he brings up his glass to his lips, and takes a drink of that usual whiskey. It was morning, but the night before was pure terror. He recollects the gun pushing against his forehead, right between his brows. Desperate breaths heaved out of him, shaking fingers numbing out from being held up for so long. How his own voice echoed in his mind, pleading for mercy, unlike what bravery he was usually painted with. Then followed a gunshot, thankfully into the other guy's skull, the bullets course from ear to ear, then a huff of a familiar co-worker. He was saved from the physical, but not of the mental.

He closes his eyes, and anticipates the footsteps, preparing himself for whoever it is that came in. They were sluggish and had no particular rhythm, yet peculiarly light.

"Geoff," the voice behind calls out. A slight tug of the hoodie string and a few fixes of the beanie is followed by a sigh.

"Go on," Geoff responds. Glass still in hand, he swirls the alcohol about a little, before drinking some more. His thumb presses against the glass roughly, as if trying to shatter it with sheer force.

"I want to resign from Fake AH Crew, this being my last talk about it with you."

The sun casts bright light into the otherwise unlit room, as if to place an angelic-like halo around Geoff. To Ray, however, it looked more like the sunshine was being blocked by him, the menacing shadow partially looming over Ray in consequence.

"I warned you what is going to happen if you do, and what happens if you don't," Geoff reminds, putting his glass down onto the nearest flat piece of furniture. An exhausted sigh leaves Geoff's mouth, his eyes now piercing into Ray's. He runs his thumb across above his lip, then lowers his whole hand. "No matter how loyal you say you are, nothing guarantees you keeping this crew's classified information a secret. That's just the business of it."

"You really believe I'm leaving to go destroy the reputation I've earned thus far? I want to go solo to build it further, not ruin it." Ray interlocks his fingers, then pulls them up onto his head, stretching out his arms while flexed out. His teeth grew tired from being gritted for a good 5 minutes now, and the pain surges through his jaw and even neck.

With an exhale through the mouth, Geoff reaches into his suit pants for a few moments. He then takes out a revolver, with custom engraving. Each sixth of the cylinder was carved each of the Fake AH Crew members: Jack, Michael, Geoff, Ryan, Gavin, and Ray.

"Since you're not getting the point..." Geoff starts off, as he inserts one bullet into the chamber marked as Ray. Lifting his right hand up, Geoff perfectly lines up the shot onto Ray's forehead. The target does not move, but slightly raises his hands up. Geoff places his thumb onto the hammer, and waits.

"You're gonna kill me, one the 6 crucial members, just because you can't trust anyone?" Ray interrogates, without the slightest bit of undulation in his voice.

"For the sake of crew protocol. Kill to keep vital secrets," Geoff replies in a harsh tone, his breath a hostile hiss, disrupting the flow of sound. Ray takes a step forward, the gun a few centimeters away from his head.

"Do it, then. Prove it to me."

Geoff closes his eyes for a brief moment, and is haunted by the trauma of yesterday's predicament. Ray takes a hold of the barrel, and pulls it even closer to his forehead, forcing it to make contact against his skin. Geoff's eyes fly open, from the sudden movement of the gun, and sees the nightmarish irony. The one who seeked mercy now held that power to make others beg for it. His finger lay dormant on the trigger, and for a few moments, the two didn’t take their gazes off of one another. Geoff jerks the gun leftwards, as Ray lets loose of his grip. The gun itself slams onto the coffee table, which thankfully is made of wood and not of glass.

“Do you think I’m stupid enough to fire a gun in the main HQ? And give away the most important thing this crew’s got? No fucking way.” If he weren’t in his own home just now, Geoff would’ve spit on the ground. Instead, he wipes his forehead, and snarls toward Ray.

“I thought so. I’m leaving, and that’s that.” Ray smirks, and then turns around, beginning to walk out of the apartment. He places his hands inside his hoodie pockets, having some sense of victory flow over him. Months and months of planning had come down to this moment of confrontation, and it went even easier than Ray had planned. He thought of his now empty apartment, and all of his equipment already moved into a private storage space, and he had a new place in mind to move in.

“The moment you leave this very apartment and I hear the elevator go off, I’m gonna order your assassination, Narvaez,” Geoff hisses the name, an act of verbal violence. It was the final step out of the crew, to strip Ray’s first name out of Geoff’s mind, and to refer to him like a rival, by last name. He balls both of his fists up, as he stands helplessly, glancing at the gun every now and again. The shine of it tempts Geoff, but he had better intentions that to straight up murder one of his own, but he knew someone who could do what he couldn’t.

“Tell ‘em good fucking luck then, Ramsey.”

The door slams closed, as Ray starts to walk faster, to now escape hostile territory. He pushes the elevator door, and then gulps. Taking out his phone, he checks the time, and then his two bank accounts, one that the Fake AH Crew set up, and his new, private one. With one refresh, he saw the FAHC bank account go to a daunting zero. The money, he assumes, now was shared between the 5 remaining members. Good thing he made it look like he ‘spent’ some before they did zero it out. His private account, on the other hand, was still the same, now holding the rest of his funds. A ding goes off, and Ray steps into the elevator, and presses the ground floor button.

Meanwhile, Geoff takes out his phone out of his suit pants’ pocket. He dials what he considered an emergency number, a number that was never used except for what he called ‘Executive Orders’. With a heavy breath, the brings up the phone to his ear.

“Yes?” the voice on the other end asks in a hushed tone.

“Executive order, execute Ray Narvaez Jr. Doesn’t matter which way, no moral limits. I want them dead. And when you’re done, as proof, I want you to take his damned beanie off of that lifeless corpse.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You best not fail me now...James.”


	2. Digging Your Own Grave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ray could only register the initial sting of his hand, and fails to keep the gun held afterwards. He was going to die, and it was going to be slow. In the corner of his eye, he watches his blood flow out of his hand, in a dazed horror.

Ray steps into his unmarked car, and shakily puts the keys into the ignition. Turning the key with one hand, he then reached over awkwardly with the other to lower the radio volume almost all the way down. He runs his hands through his hair, and breathes out heavily. After a few moments of just breathing and blinking, he gathers himself and begins to drive.

“Let’s do this then,” he mumbles to himself, his fingers growing restless from his tight grip on the steering wheel. In an attempt to distract himself, he begins to tap his fingers onto the wheel with no particular rhythm, also shaking off the tired feeling. Ray faintly recalls the place he wanted to hide at for now, and it all he could remember was the cemetery close to it. In frustration. He hits his forehead with his palm a few times, before getting back to focusing on the road. He didn’t care for the stop signs or traffic lights, so he zooms past by them without much second thought.

A familiar vibration goes off in his pockets, and Ray pulls over to the side of the road, onto some parking. He checks his lock screen, and sees a few notifications. First, he finally sees that he has been officially notified about his FAHC account, and its emptiness. The other notification, a text, is from his crew...Ex-Crewmember Jack.

 **‘sorry to see you go…’** it reads.

Ray decides not to respond back, he instead snickers. Of course Jack would be the only one to care about his departure. He goes back onto the road, and takes the swervy road across and through Vinewood Hills. Although it wasn’t the best way to get to the Hill Valley Cemetery, and certainly not the fastest, the swerves could help with putting his mind into some sense of focus. He fidgets a little at the thought of hanging around at a graveyard, but he couldn’t do anything to help with the current payment feud the house across the road is having between him and one other buyer. He sees it more as an unfortunate consequence of having so quickly purchased it in the first place. He just hopes that the other buyer also has to resort to sleeping out somewhere awful.

Sunset falls fast upon Los Santos, as Ray roughly gets halfway distance between Geoff’s apartment and the Pacific Bluffs county, which means Richman county, and he better be careful of the police here, as they are more rough than the other counties. He checks his rear mirror, and sees a car flashing their headlights. Shrugging it off at first, he continues to drive. Ray begins to bite his lower lip as he sees the car slowly catch up to him. He takes a deep breath in, and closes his eyes. His foot switches off of the acceleration and instantly stomps on the break. On impact, the cars halt, but do not make the expected loud beeping. Ray opens his eyes, and squirms his way through to get on the passenger’s seat. With one hand he opens the glove box, and the other retrieving the pistol inside. He crouches, making himself as small as a target as possible, and opens the passenger seat.

Ray readies the pistol in front of him, and does not peek out of the car at first. He considers the surroundings, which consists of forest and perhaps some bodies of water. His focus breaks has he hears the other car's door open. Staying in the car is not much of an option, as the stranger in the other car seems to be approaching his. He warily places his foot out of the car, and onto the ground outside. Thank goodness, at least the car has nothing valuable in it, and the only value it has is the car itself.

“Don’t even fight it,” a rumbly voice barks out, closing the driver's seat door. Ray listens in on the footsteps, and hears a small break in rhythm. He takes his other foot out of the car, and now leans forward, but not so much that his nose would begin to poke out.

In a sudden burst, Ray hurls himself out of the car, and makes a run for it. With the gun held firmly in his hand, he dashes past the trees in a semi serpentine manner. He argues within himself whether or not to look back, and take the chance to shoot back.

The assassin does not run, but instead just walks menacingly towards Ray. He loads his silenced pistol, and then looks through the iron sight. With his marksman eye, he observes the movement of Ray's left leg.

The assassin shoots, and the bullets drives itself into the side of Ray's leg, a mere centimeters away from the knee. Exactly as intended.

Ray yelps out at the pain, now putting his attention on the blood spilling onto his jeans. He couldn't run anymore, but he is more worried now of the intentions of that crazy man. Why the leg if this was supposedly one of Geoff’s best? Only a masochist would want to inflict more pain than a regular execution would need. Ray decides to limp instead, trying to minimize further damage upon himself. He slows down, as he realizes his body is going numb and losing internal temperature. He places pressure on his leg with his left hand, and has no other option but to make his whole right arm vulnerable.

Shock is beginning to settle in.

As the assassin almost catches up, his steadfast motion unrelenting, he draws his gun once more. He shakes his head at the sight, but is keenly aware of the gun that is still in Ray's hand. With a steady hand, he directs his next shot onto the exposed flesh between Ray's thumb and pointer finger.

Ray could only register the initial sting of his hand, and fails to keep the gun held afterwards. He was going to die, and it was going to be slow. In the corner of his eye, he watches his blood flow out of his hand, in a dazed horror. It splashes onto his clothes, and gets a few specks going on his pistol. He stares helplessly at the blown off portion, with shortness of breath beginning to take toll. Ray slumps over, and now lays on the ground on his left side, trying to stop his bleeding.

The man now stands above Ray's body, gun ready and aimed. He looks over to the small puddle of blood forming beneath Ray. His indifferent mask meets eye contact with Ray's.

“You motherfuc--” Ray recognizes the mask instantly, and his mental capacity to put it all together causes the frustrating agony to pulse more intensely through him. “Go ahead, do what the boss told you and kill me already.”

The masked man hums in response, as he lowers his gun, and then hides it within his jacket. He crouches down, and tightly grabs Ray's left wrist, and forces onto the ground, stretching it out so he can't punch with it.

“Don't make this harder that it should,” he warns, pulling out a knife from his belt, usually hidden by his other clothes. Ray shakes his head weakly, and tears begin to shed from his eyes. This isn’t how he wanted it all to end, far from it.

“Please! Don't--!” Ray yells, as he feels the knife scrape against his skin, but not deeply, if at all. He turns his head to see that the knife was driven into the ground, to pin his sleeve down.

“There...You're dead now. Geoff’s order to take your beanie as proof I did kill you.” The marksman takes off his mask, revealing his sweaty face and his makeup starting to wipe off. He lets go of the knife grip, and swipes Ray's beanie right off. However, he does not stop crouching, and stays there despite getting his trophy.

“Fuck you…Ryan...” Ray mumbles, as the world around him begins to spin. All the blood coming out of him made him sick to his stomach, but he had no energy left to react. He sees Ryan grin confidently, then switches his attention past the wicked creature, and looks upon the sky and clouds.

“Don't ever step foot in the territory, okay? There won't be a next time after this.”

Ray's eyes slowly close, and the world as he knows it turns black.


	3. No Rest for the Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dead.
> 
> That's what he is and will be from now on. He is dead to the world, and dead within his own identity. Along with Ray, he had been thrown into an endless void, and only his corruption lives on, the infamy of the name no longer. Nothing seems to matter anymore, and that in the end, blood is blood.

The apartment lay quiet, as Geoff walks over to the large couch that now has one less occupant for it. The window blinds were pulled in now, and closed. The moon is poking out of clouds, with only a handful of stars are visible. Geoff has shifted himself onto the edge of the couch, with some lights now turned on, an empty glass on the end table, and has been sitting there, waiting patiently for words to draw close to him. He runs his fingers over his knuckles, and takes a deep breath. 

Only 10 minutes ago did Ryan officially claimed Ray’s death, and has since then been driving back to Geoff’s apartment. The only thing that Geoff has done other than sit there is to have called a meeting with all the members. One of his own has been killed now, and he ordered for one of his own to do it. The thought of familial blood spilling causes Geoff to feel dizzy. 

He shuts his eyes, in an attempt to calm down. Instead, flashes of intense red surge through, along with a excruciating gunshot hitting flesh. Geoff begins to shake, as his fingers begin to claw a bit into his own skin. He didn't care much that he would draw blood, as he has already broken in hands in with pumping all the ink he’s gotten from his tattoos.

Perhaps that's how he deals with his job, the fact that he can spend lucrative amounts of money and time in a tattoo shop. The pain of getting one is a punishment for his work, and he didn't even seem to care what kind or how big it is, all he was doing was chasing the pain crawling up and down his skin. Otherwise, his sleeves wouldn't be filled up with tattoos but mutilations of many other kinds.

The door opens, and multiple sets of footsteps enter in. Various voices call out his name, with Ryan’s being the last to call out. Only the Gents knew of the tragedy, as Gavin and Michael already were dicking around and being careless. Geoff turns around, and observes his co-workers.

Jack focuses their gaze down, into the small coffee cup they are holding, and seems to be steadying their breath. Ryan, with the makeup almost smeared completely off, is looking at his left pocket that had a grey item of clothing sticking out. Of course Geoff begins to shake at the sight of it.

After a few minutes, the crew settles in on the couch, as all eyes were on Geoff, while Geoff stares down at the revolver, becoming numb all throughout his body.

“Due to some...particular circumstances...Ray's contract has been permanently terminated. He will...no longer work with us.”

Geoff didn't even seem to associate himself with his voice now, with that detached sense of self. He was The Boss, and nothing else. The Fake AH Crew has taken over his current state of existence. Geoff Ramsey had been tucked away the moment he threatened his own kin for the sake of business.

Dead.

That's what he is and will be from now on. He is dead to the world, and dead within his own identity. Along with Ray, he had been thrown into an endless void, and only his corruption lives on, the infamy of the name no longer. Nothing seems to matter anymore, and that in the end, blood is blood.

The room remains quiet, with everyone's heads looking downwards, keeping as still as possible. Geoff couldn't process his empathy for his crewmembers, and decides to take out a small, folded piece of paper out of his pocket. Said paper has been in his pocket for a long while, and it is a rather terrible time to finally take it out, but he couldn't care less.

The paper only had a phone number on it, and a few words right below: ‘one-use only’.

“Because of my Executive Order for Ray's permanent termination, we are now one member short. However, we have hope. This application has been going under evaluation for years, and since we have an open spot, I am finally able to let them enter, and become our first initiate in years.”

The news causes almost everyone to gasp. Jack shakes their head furiously at the sudden thought of having a new member just after the death of the other. The crew is now just willingly going to take in new members when another has died, and it made them a little sick in the stomach. The crew might as well crumble. On the other hand, having only 5 members is no better, and they can easily be overwhelmed by bigger rival groups. Jack hopes that the new initiate is just a quick and temporary fix while they just train harder.

Michael gets up, his hand running through his hair, and walks toward the fridge. He decides to rummage for a beer, to aid in letting the information sink in. Ryan hides his face with his hands, not in shame, but from exhaustion. Since his successful hit, Ryan has not slept or even so much as rested. He spent his night just standing, doing nothing else but breathing and blinking. Geoff dials in the number, puts the phone on speaker, and then places his phone down onto the coffee table in front of him, trying to avoid the revolver already on it.

The phone rings twice, then is picked up.

“Hello?” the voice on the phone asks, with no hesitation on the formal greeting, the rather innocent tone of the voice making Michael furrow his brows.

“Yeah, this is the Fake AH Crew calling in to say that you have been chosen to be our initiate. Unfortunately our crew went from 6 to 5, but we are going to give you one chance to take the available 6th slot. Are you willing to take it?” Geoff explains with a tired voice.

A few moments of silence pass, with the whole crew waiting patiently for some sort of answer.

“Yes, of course! When do I come in and make this official? Haven’t really met the other guys yet, but I’ve heard of them.”

“If you can get here within a couple of hours, we’ll give you a warm welcome.” Geoff clasps his hands together, and feigns a smile.

“Oh, really? I’ll be there as soon as possible!”

“Welcome to the team, Jeremy.”


	4. XIII.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now he lay in nothingness, with no sensation, and no sense of self physically. There was no longer the earth beneath him, and no sky above.

Now he lay in nothingness, with no sensation, and no sense of self physically. There was no longer the earth beneath him, and no sky above.

The darkness replays some voices and images of his cursed Ex-Crewmembers. Some were good, and held more precious moments of teamwork and cooperation. But most of them were bad, and had been mostly tainted by his last day on that damned earth. Ryan's sinister grin and Geoff’s hostile snarl were what he saw. Everything was still other from that, and nothingness seems to be his new state of being. Ray wasn’t the most religious, and he had already thought that his life, for the most part, was hell on earth.

Except the pains of his being seem to have carried on. Stinging sensations seem to form his sense of body. A jolt courses through him.

Ray's eyes suddenly open wide, and is blinded by the light. He grunts as he tries to move his limbs. Some concoction of numbing drugs courses through his system, but the wounds he could feel still, as if it is seared into his body or eating away at him. A number of groans escape his mouth, as his vision finally levels out, and he can see most of his surroundings.

He is indeed in his car, but laying down semi-comfortably on the back seats. It appears that a blanket is covering most of his body. He throws it off of him, onto the floor of the car, and sees his leg wrapped tightly in some form of cloth. The pants themselves still were damp with his own blood, and the sight and smell of it makes him dizzy. Perhaps he was better off dead after all, because he was certain he didn’t want to struggle to survive the injuries now. The cemetery was even more worse to think about now, as the irony sinks in.

By some form of miracle, he is alive, but perhaps not in the best shape. He could barely move, let alone even get his head around his apparent resurrection.

His purple hoodie also had stains of blood, with most of his left side soaking in it, from his previous puddle. The sleeve that the knife went through is also bandaged up, and Ray could feel a sense of limitation of movement. Ryan had stitched up the wound, in a professional manner. Ray now assumes the other injuries had been stitched up and taken care of properly as well, and the blanket was also Ryan’s idea.

It all made sense, suddenly. Ryan did his job, and that he was indeed officially dead. His organs did indeed stop, for at least a mere few moments. But to Ryan’s precision, he had hit parts that would induce a coma-like state, and the wounds, in placement and in precision, were there so he could aid in healing up. No wonder he didn’t care to aim for the head.

Not even the best had the guts to kill one of their own, not after all those years of building up such close ties.

Ray found it a little pathetic.


End file.
